Training Wheels
by Chelsie Dagger
Summary: 1902- Carson and the young Ladies Crawley ride bicycles. A sort of prequel to Moving Forward. This was supposed to be a flashback in that story, but got too big. Where there is Charles, there is Elsie. Be patient. Mostly Fluff. Is it September yet? I do not own these characters, only borrowed them from J. Fellowes
1. Chapter 1

Downton Abbey, April 1902

"Don't let go, Carson!" Mary ordered, pedaling like mad.

Charles Carson ran head long down the steep, grass-covered slope. He was fit for a man in his mid 40's but he had been chasing the four children around the estate since just after breakfast and was quite out of breath. He spared a moment to think…._How did I get here?_

Leave it to Mr. Crawley to decide that bicycles were the perfect gift to give all three Crawley Girls at once. Lady Grantham said it was kind of James and Patrick to drop by and pay attentions to the girls. Carson thought it was ghoulish for the heir to Grantham to come visit the children of the current Earl while said Earl was away in Africa fighting for King and Country.

And leave it to Fraulein Kelda to decide that teaching children to ride bikes was not in the job description of a governess. Perhaps it was not, but then how had it fallen to the butler, of all people?

When the scheme of his accompanying the girls out to ride had been brought up at breakfast, Mr. Carson had protested, noting that his presence was needed to prepare and serve luncheon and he could hardly take the whole day off.

That was the wrong choice of phrase.

"But that's exactly what you should do, Carson. What an excellent idea!" Her Ladyship had exclaimed.

"Take the whole day today. I'll tell Mrs. Pearson. She can handle luncheon, it's only family. Roger can serve."

"He's getting much better, Carson." She said, responding to his skeptical look and stopping his harrumph while it was still in his throat. "I insist. I don't want to see you indoors until dinner."

And so, here he was; completely out of his element. A butler was primarily an indoor creature. If he ventured outdoors it was with crisp white tents and tables with crisp white tablecloths and at least a month of planning.

A butler should always reflect the dignity of the house. He did NOT think his current state reflected very much dignity at all. He was in his three piece suit, sweating profusely, with the tie and collar askew, the tails of his shirt slipping out and at least two very visible scuffs on his shoes from having his feet run over.

It had rained the day before, so he also had flecks of mud all over his clothes and face. The girls' play frocks were a lost cause as well, but that was Fraulein Kelda's concern.

The dots of mud had been sprayed at him from the wheels of Mr. Patrick's bicycle. Mr. Carson did not like to think it was intentional, but he had his suspicions. Mr. Patrick had spent the morning literally riding circles around them trying to show off for Mary. He was shouting such helpful hints as, "No, that's not right… Like THIS."

Mr. Patrick's prowess on the bike had not improved Lady Mary's mood any more than it had Mr. Carson's. Lady Mary believed, and rightfully so, Carson thought, if a "twit like Patrick" can ride that well, it should be a simple matter for her.

Carson was glad that she was at least lady enough not to say so to Mr. Patrick's face, but she mumbled words to this effect under her breath to Edith whenever he rode out of earshot. After all, she fumed, she was ten years old and could ride a horse better than any of the stable boys her age. A horse had to be more difficult than a bicycle. But she was allowed to wear pants for horseback riding.

Edith seemed suitably impressed by Patrick and clapped to encourage him. Carson suspected she was doing it just to goad Lady Mary. Edith was a stirrer.

They had begun on the soft level field in front of the folly. But the progress had been too slow.

Mary was sure that, if she only had enough speed, she would be able to steer more easily. But she couldn't generate speed without being able to steer at all. Carson was wary of pushing her too fast, as she tended to change directions suddenly and run over his feet. She was at a loss. They'd had some success using the small slope away from the folly, but it was neither long enough nor steep enough to result in much momentum.

Edith had suggested they come to the hill by the lake for speed. Carson thought this was a very bad idea and said so many times. Lady Mary was about to give into his cautions, but Mr. Patrick chose that very moment to ride by with his hands off the handlebars. He hit a puddle and almost lost control of the bike. He recovered, however, which made the feat even more impressive. Edith clapped enthusiastically.

Right. That decided it.

And so down the hill Lady Mary and Carson now went. Mary did seem to be balancing more on her own, but it was Carson's strong hands that kept her from falling when she finally slowed to a stop in the small flat below the hill.

At six years old, little Sybil had not been granted a 'big girl' bicycle. Her bike was very like her sisters', but it lacked pedals. She propelled herself along by pushing off the ground with her feet. Once she saw Mary careen down the hill, there was no stopping Sybil from having her fun as well.

Carson had barely recovered from chasing Lady Mary, but he looked up the hill and saw the youngest lady rolling down it towards him. The look on her face was pure joy. The look on his was pure panic. She had not thought at all about how she was to stop. The hill ended in a small flat area, but beyond that, there was another drop in the terrain that ended in the lake. Carson thought she had too much momentum to stop in the flat.

_Was he now expected to teach swimming?_

Thankfully, Sybil was shooting down the hill directly at him, like a dart heading for triple twenty. He moved like a matador, grabbing the handlebars of the bicycle, very like the horns a bull, in one hand as he scooped the child up into the opposite arm. Thus damage to limb and property was avoided. Unfortunately, Sybil decided this was how a bike was meant to be enjoyed. Squealing with delight, she squirmed out of Carson's grip as soon as they stopped spinning, took the handlebars in her tiny fists and started running back up the hill, pushing the bike beside her.

It had been Edith's idea to try to come to the larger hill. She reasoned that the gravity would help them gather speed so they wouldn't have to concentrate on pedaling so hard. She wasn't entirely wrong. Edith was happy to let her sisters test her theory first. She'd watched both Mary and Sybil now and she thought she had the measure of it. She started tentatively down the hill, going at a cross angle to control her speed. It wasn't a bad idea, but Edith was quickly reminded that Gravity was a law that did not bend to the will of an individual. When her momentum got away from her, her feet lost the pedals. Now, she plummeted out of control. The only things connecting her to the bicycle were her white knuckled hands on the handle bars which began to buck wildly from side to side. Her trajectory took her too far away from Carson for him to catch her.

It was Patrick who reached her first. He pulled his bike to a stop; looking down at Edith where she'd fallen at the base of the hill. "It's not the fall that hurts, it's the sudden stop at the end," he offered helpfully before pedaling off almost directly up the hill spraying a bit more mud than was strictly necessary. As Carson picked the child and bike off the ground, he spared a disapproving look for Mr. Patrick. Carson assumed that was what passed for wit at Eton.

"Well, Patrick Crawley, it's not a gentleman's words that prove him, but his actions." Edith called after him. "Thank you, Carson." She said in an unnaturally loud voice. She was four years Patrick's junior, and maybe her retort wasn't as biting as she had hoped, but Carson could see Edith was already sharper than Patrick. At least she wasn't just repeating some witticism she'd overheard. Standards were higher here at Downton. The Dowager saw to that.

Now Mary was back at the top of the hill. She looked at Carson to make sure he was ready to catch her. He raised his brows at her, silently asking if she was sure she was ready to face the hill solo. She nodded with determination and placed both feet on the pedals as the bike began to move. She navigated most of the hill well enough. She hit the flat at an angle that would take her near Carson. Mary was now truly pedaling like mad, trying to keep her momentum. Her concentration was so focused on the front wheel and maintaining her speed, she quite forgot that she was headed directly for the lake.

Carson saw there was nothing for it but to grab Lady Mary off the bicycle at a run as she passed him. However, the result was not as fluid as it had been with Lady Sybil. She had a bit more mass than Lady Sybil and he could not handle the bicycle as well. Mary yelped as she was grabbed under the arms by his large hands. She instinctively let go of the bicycle. It continued sure and true even without a rider. It splashed into the reeds just beside the dock.

"Are you quite alright, my lady?" Carson confirmed her condition as he set her upright on the grass.

"Yes, thank you, Carson. I think I actually rode there for a bit. I just ran out of land."

"It's rather an important element, my lady. But, yes, you did seem to be getting the hang of it. Please make sure Lady Sybil does not come down the hill until I am back from retrieving your bicycle."

He looked up at the top of the hill and caught Lady Sybil's eye. He raised one great hand in a gesture of 'stay' and relaxed when she seemed to understand. Luckily, Carson could reach Lady Mary's bicycle from the dock. He did not want to take off his shoes and wade in after the bike.

There were several more attempts by all the girls as lunch hour approached. They were getting better by leaps and bounds, but Carson was still the only thing that kept Sybil from propelling herself into the lake. Lady Edith had scraped her elbow, but that was the only casualty.

_So far._

**TBC- **

**A/N Though training wheels were not invented until 1950 and they are apparently called stabilizers by the Brits, I am still naming this story Training Wheels. I hope it's not too distracting.**


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Carson thought Fraulein Kelda waited unreasonably late to call lunch today. The girls answered her eventual summons; dropping their bikes and Mr. Carson at the bottom of the hill and promising him they would be right back. Mr. Patrick pedaled off with them.

Mr. Carson sat down heavily on the grass next to the pile of bikes as he watched them go. He'd already missed the servant's lunch and he really didn't want to go back into the house in his present state to scrounge something from a grumpy Mrs. Cobb.

He was contemplating going down to the lake to see if he could wash up a bit when he spied a figure coming from the direction of the house. Elsie Hughes, the head housemaid of Downton, had quick, deliberate steps that he would recognize a mile off. She seemed to always know exactly where she was going. Mr. Carson admired that quality in her.

He didn't call out to her or scramble to his feet. He simply sat where he had collapsed, his knees pulled up so his feet rested on the slope of the hill; his elbows resting on his knees. He was not self-conscious of his appearance in front of her. He might have been with any of the other staff, but he knew Elsie was too sensible and kind to ridicule him to his face or behind his back.

He had an instinct to run his hands over his hair in an attempt to tame it, but it might look like he was preening for her. Instead, he raised his hand in her direction so she knew he had seen her and then looked off at the lake. It would never do for him to continue to stare at her while she approached; no matter how much he would have enjoyed the view. Elsie had an easy manner and was undeniably handsome. She was also very ambitious and had her eyes set on the housekeeping position. Carson had to remind himself of her ambitions as well as his own in moments like this where he was tempted to focus on her physical attributes.

Within a month of her arrival, he understood why Mrs. Pearson had requested the young lady return to Downton from London. Mr. Carson knew it was Mrs. Pearson's intent to retire in the next few years and that she was grooming Elsie to replace her. Elsie had served as head housemaid under Mrs. Pearson at Downton briefly before going off to serve as Lady Rosamund's head housemaid and then lady's maid. Carson had been off valeting for the young master in London in those years when she'd been at Downton. So, though they had both worked for the family or the estate for over fifteen years; _well over_, in his case, they had not spent more than 100 days under the same roof. If she took the housekeeper position that would certainly change. The prospect thrilled him more than was proper.

Elsie smiled to herself at the figure of Mr. Carson sitting on the side of the hill by the lake. _He almost looks human._ Within a week of her return to Downton, Elsie had been impressed by the efficiency of the Downton staff. It had been excellent before, under Mrs. Pearson and Mr. Smyth, but it was somehow improved now. She saw that it came from Mrs. Pearson and Mr. Carson, who worked closely together and led by example. There were the occasional dressing downs, but Mr. Carson was harder on himself than on anyone else. His austere demeanor complimented Mrs. Pearson's more gentle style.

Mrs. Pearson was like a mother to Mr. Carson and Elsie knew he would do anything for her. She had also seen immediately how much extra work Mr. Carson did to cover for Mrs. Pearson, who was was nearing seventy. She was certainly at an age where it would be respectable to retire, but she was determined to continue serving for several more years, she'd told Elsie. The main challenge for her was the stairs, which did seem to be wearing her down. Soon, Elsie was helping Mr. Carson with the little things that would spare Mrs. Pearson any superfluous trips upstairs.

He noticed and was grateful. "You must let me know if it ever gets to be too much, Elsie. When that time comes, I will speak to Mrs. Pearson. We won't be doing her any favors if we let her stay past the point where she can retire with her dignity." He said thoughtfully.

She thought the day for that conversation was approaching faster than any of them had anticipated. Elsie cast these thoughts aside. She had almost reached him now.

"Mrs. Pearson sent me with some food for you, Mr. Carson." She said when she was within a reasonable distance and could be heard without raising her voice.

"And Mrs. Cobb did not object, Elsie?" The cook took every chance to clash wills with the housekeeper. It had gotten worse in recent weeks. Carson knew the cook smelled weakness in Mrs. Pearson. It saddened him to see it.

"I'm sure she would have, if she'd known, Mr. Carson." Elsie smiled mischievously.

"Well, she'll figure it out, so keep your head down." He accepted the lunch pail she'd offered and motioned for her to sit down. She settled an appropriate distance away. He unfolded the napkin he'd removed from the pail and was pleased to find scones with jam, some cheese and an apple.

"It's not much," she apologized.

"Nonsense, it's exactly what is called for. Have you eaten?" He removed his pen knife from his pocket and began to slice the apple deftly. He seemed to do everything with an unconscious authority, she marveled; even slicing an apple.

"Of course, or I would have brought enough for myself as well."

"Still, there is plenty," he said, slicing a bit of cheese and offering her a delicate slice of apple with the cheese perfectly balanced on top. "Amuse-bouche?" he offered.

She accepted the morsel, smilingly. "Merci beaucoup." She replied with her thick Scottish brogue, laying it on even thicker for comic value. The words were almost unintelligible.

He nearly choked on the scone he'd just bitten into.

"Why, Miss Elsie, you speak French like a native..." She waited for the punch line. "…of Aberdeen."

She laughed at this, but could not resist getting the last word. "Wrong coast, Mr. Carson; and a bit far north. I'm only from Argyll."

"Well, that's put me in my place. My apologies, Elsie." He'd found the small pint of milk in the pail now and was washing down the scone.

"Apology accepted, Mr. Carson. And my apologies..." he waited patiently for the punch line, "to the French."

As he ate the rest of his lunch, Elsie filled him in on the events of the morning and relayed some questions from Mrs. Pearson regarding dinner. She was surprised how much easier it was to talk to him outside of the house. Perhaps it was because he had abandoned any hope at pretension. His current unkempt state made it almost impossible. But it was more than that somehow. Seeing him outdoors put him in perspective for her. He didn't loom so large. There weren't doorways for him to fill or tea trays with delicate china on them for him to dwarf.

When all was settled for the evening, she turned the conversation to the girls and their progress on the bicycles.

"About what you'd expect, Elsie. It is absolute chaos," he grumbled. "If I'd wanted to be a nanny, I'd have applied for the position."

"And no doubt, you'd have gotten it."

"Not likely. I am not exactly the nanny type. Honestly, could you see me in a nursery?"

"No, I suppose not." She answered aloud while thinking, _Maybe as a large stuffed bear_... she hid her smirk behind a cough.

As if on cue, the sounds of the children returning reached them. He looked at this watch. The girls had eaten in record time and were apparently skipping the usual after lunch quiet time.

"I'm confused, Mr. Carson. Is it your day off, or Fraulein Kelda's?"

He chuckled and put his watch back in his pocket.

He shook the crumbs off the napkin, wiped his mouth, folded the napkin neatly, placed it in the lunch pail with the empty milk bottle and handed it to her. They both stood just as Mr. Patrick arrived on his bike. The girls arrived just behind him and bee lined for the bicycles. Elsie thought she saw Lady Edith stick out her leg to trip Lady Mary. Mary jumped nimbly over it. Lady Sybil was not as quick. She fell, tumbling a bit, but popped right back up and kept running, arriving at the pile of bicycles only steps behind her sisters. There was some pushing and shoving as the bikes were untangled.

"Thank you for an enjoyable lunch, Elsie. And please thank Mrs. Pearson for thinking of me. Could you please remember to have one of the hall boys prepare my clothes for dinner service and instruct Roger to ring the gong if I have not returned in time?" He dismissed her as the girls began to demand his attention.

"Certainly, Mr. Carson." She started back towards the house, but paused a little way off. She wanted to observe some of the chaos firsthand. Mr. Carson was obviously overwhelmed, but as grumpy as he was professing to be with the situation, she thought he looked like he was actually having a bit of fun.

All three ladies had reached the top of the hill. Carson was not sure how he was going to handle it if they all took off at once. He prioritized Lady Sybil, judging her to be the most likely to end up in the lake and knowing her to be the only one who could not swim.

"Perhaps you ladies should start half way down the hill for now. I think starting at the top is giving you too much speed." He called up at them.

To his relief, Edith agreed with him. "That is just what I was thinking, Mr. Carson." She began to walk her bike down to the midpoint of the slope. Mary sniffed haughtily at this sign of weakness and mounted the bike at the crest of the hill. Lady Sybil simply launched herself directly at Mr. Carson in response. This time, anticipating being swept off the bike, Sybil took her hands off the handle bars too soon. The bike turned at the last moment, almost spilling over. Mr. Carson caught her before she could hit the grass, but was unable to grab the bike. Instead the bike crashed into him, the handlebars meeting the shin of his right leg, almost tripping him. He managed to keep his feet and was able to set Lady Sybil gently back on the ground. He then bent over, wincing in pain. Elsie held her breath, expecting a string of expletives to erupt from the injured butler. Lady Sybil began to fuss over him immediately.

"Oh, Mr. Carson, did that hurt very much?" She was obviously concerned.

Somehow, he managed a smile that would only have fooled a six-year-old and reached down to pick up her bike, as though that had been the whole reason he'd bent over in the first place. "Not to worry, Lady Sybil. There are advantages to being built like a barn. What do you say we start at a lower point on the hill for a bit, hmm? I'd hate for you to end up in the lake."

"Very well, Carson." She said, taking the bike from him. Almost as an afterthought, finding herself in a rare face to face with the large butler, as he was still doubled over, Lady Sybil kissed his cheek quickly before darting away with the bike.

Mr. Carson's mouth gaped and he looked for a moment as though he was going to lecture the girl on the impropriety of her action, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he stood up with a distant look and a half smile on his face. Lady Mary had managed to navigate the hill without incident and Carson snapped back to attention in time to praise her sufficiently.

Elsie forced herself to turn away from the scene, feeling as though she was suddenly an intruder. _What a dear, sweet bear of a man,_ she thought as she started off deliberately for the house.

**TBC...**


	3. Chapter 3

The dressing gong had sounded promptly at seven, with Roger making a meal of it in Elsie's opinion. Eight o'clock was fast approaching. Mr. Carson and the children were not back yet. Fraulein Kelda was not inclined to call them back, so it would be up to Mr. Carson to call an end to the day. It was always going to be a near thing for Mr. Carson to clean up and be properly composed for dinner service. Now it was a question of him even being back before dinner started.

Elsie made sure Geoffrey had polished a fresh pair of shoes for Mr. Carson to lay out with his dinner clothes. She also saw to it that there was a basin of fresh water and towels for him to wash the mud from his face. Mrs. Pearson had made the evening's wine selections. All that was needed for dinner now was the man himself.

It was almost well dark before the small group finally approached the house. Elsie made sure her work kept her near the windows so she could look out for them. She was rechecking the table setting for the thirteenth time when she saw them. Three bicycles were buzzing around a walking figure. She noticed that the figure was limping slightly. One of the bicycle riders fell over randomly. _That's poor Edith all over_, Elsie thought.

As they got closer, she realized that Mr. Carson was carrying a sleeping Sybil in one arm and trailing her bike behind him with the other. Elsie's heart hurt vaguely to think that this man had chosen to never have children of his own. All he could ever have was this watered down version of fatherhood where the children called him by his last name and took him for granted.

Still, she saw the obvious respect and affection all three girls had for him and her heart swelled a bit remembering the way Lady Sybil had kissed him. It seemed to be enough for him. She also remembered that she'd made the same choice that he had. She hoped it would be enough for her.

She woke Fraulein Kelda in the servant's hall and informed her that her charges would be arriving soon. The woman had nodded off reading Goethe. _Nice work if you can get it,_ Elsie thought sardonically. She and the governess met the group in the back hallway.

Now that she saw him up close, Mr. Carson looked as though he had been drawn and quartered by the four children. He was sweaty and covered in mud almost head to toe. There was a tear in his trouser leg, his shoes were in a deplorable state, his shirt had come untucked completely, the shoulder seam on his jacket was coming loose and his hair was obscuring the vision of his right eye.

"We've left the bikes beside the work shed, Fraulein." He informed her in an exhausted tone that seemed to say if he never saw another bicycle, it would be too soon.

"And what is that to me, Mr. Carson? You must see to their storage. There is no room in the nursery for such things."

Mr. Carson obviously did not have the time or inclination to argue further. Without another word he gently shoved the sleeping Lady Sybil into Fraulein Kelda's unwelcoming arms and brushed past them all as he headed directly to his room.

Elsie walked back into the servant's hall. The clock showed ten minutes until eight. There had been odds laid on the prospect of Mr. Carson getting dinner started on time tonight. Elsie saw more money exchanging hands and heard a few comments of, "I'll take a piece of that." as she headed into the kitchen to inform Mrs. Cobb that Mr. Carson had returned. She had her own side bet with the cook. She was growing nervous about her chances.

The clock chimed at the same instant the dining room bell rang to signal the beginning of dinner service. Disbelieving looks were exchanged as everyone jumped into action. Elsie made sure she found an excuse to accompany the first course upstairs. Mrs. Pearson was already there, as she had decanted the wines. Elsie risked a peak from behind the screen when she reached the dining room.

Mr. Carson, looking as neat as a pin, stood beside the buffet holding a carafe of golden wine. There was not a hair out of place. His nose was, perhaps, a bit sunburned, but otherwise, there were no signs of the trials of the day; not even one speck of mud. When he moved to top off Mr. Crawley's wine, the limp was imperceptible to anyone who didn't know to look for it.

It was a very small dinner. Besides Mr. Crawley and Her Ladyship, there was only the new doctor and his wife and the vicar. James Crawley was tedious company at dinner, especially when he is the only guest, so several last minute invitations had been sent. The Dowager Countess had also been invited, but she had conveniently remembered a previous engagement, which she'd previously declined.

Currently, the best conversation in the room was between Lady Grantham and her butler. Mr. Carson was amiably answering her ladyship's inquiries regarding the day of cycling.

"Ladies Mary and Edith are doing quite well, My Lady. I believe they could be unsupervised, provided they are instructed to stay clear of the lake. Lady Sybil still requires some assistance, but only because she has no pedals and must use the hills. I am sure Fraulein Kelda is up to the task."

"That is wonderful to hear. You certainly went above and beyond your duties today, Mr. Carson." She smiled up at him as he filled her wine glass.

"I know we ask much, but the girls do so enjoy you. I appreciate your making the time for them, especially with His Lordship away."

"Thank you for saying so, My Lady. But, I will be offering an extra prayer this Sunday for His Lordship's hasty return." He said, moving on to fill the vicar's empty glass, leaving Cora smiling into her wine.

CE—

It was a mixed crowd at the servant's dinner that evening. There were many sour faces and a small number of very smug expressions. The odds laid against Mr. Carson had been quite high. Sitting at her place midway up the table, Elsie struggled to keep a placid countenance as she considered her own bet with Mrs. Cobb. It was difficult not to smile when she thought of what she'd won.

Elsie was only absently aware of Mr. Carson as he instructed Roger and Geoffrey to secure the bicycles in the shed. He was suggesting that they hang the bikes there by their tires.

"If there are not enough pegs, we can add more tomorrow," he concluded, rising. "If you need anything else, I'll be in my pantry, Mrs. Pearson." He moved stiffly to the pantry door, which he closed behind him.

"Mrs. Pearson, could you spare Elsie to help me with the bicycles?" Elsie heard Roger ask.

Elsie looked up upon hearing her name. What could he be about? Surely a footman and a hall boy could handle four bicycles between the two of them.

"It's only that Geoffrey is needed to prepare some things for tomorrow."

"Mr. Carson seemed to think he had time to help you with the bicycles in addition to this work, Roger." Mrs. Pearson pointed out.

"Yes, but he's so short, I'm not sure how much assistance he would be; the pegs in the shed are quite high."

"Is Elsie so much taller?" Mrs. Pearson set down her fork and knife in preparation for a long battle. Her girls were not be be ordered about by a footman. Especially Elsie, who was practically housekeeper.

_They'll spend more time debating who should do the task than the task itself would take, _Elsie thought. She deplored such waste. Elsie cut into the conversation, "I should be happy to help, Mrs. Pearson. It shouldn't take long."

Elsie did not like the smile that Roger gave her, as though he'd won the debate with Mrs. Pearson. He was just a mischievous footman and needed to be put back in his place. Elsie took the upper hand.

"Shall we see to it now, Roger? I have other things to do this evening as well." She rose briskly and was out the backdoor before he could respond.

Seeing the bicycles now, Elsie marveled that none of the girls looked as though they'd been swimming. Every bicycle had obviously been in the lake, perhaps multiple times. There were reeds in some of the spokes and water lilies stuck to the frames of both Lady Sybil and Lady Edith's bicycles. Elsie wondered how Mr. Carson had managed to keep the girls dry. Even Mr. Patrick's bike had wet tires and a mud line on the frame as though it had been partially submerged in the muddy bank of the lake.

Elsie was in the shed, reaching up to hang Lady Mary's bicycle on the highest peg, when Roger walked up behind her. He reached over her and finished lifting the bike wheel onto the peg for her. She turned to express her thanks and retrieve Lady Edith's bike before she realized that he had not backed away after securing the bicycle. He was quite close to her and was leaning in suggestively, pinning her between his body and the wall of the shed.

"Excuse me, Roger." She started to push past him, but he did not move.

"What's the hurry, Elsie? We so rarely get a moment alone. Shouldn't we enjoy a chance when it's offered?" He lowered one hand from the wall of the shed to stroke the side of her face.

"We've very different ideas of what is enjoyable. Now, please stand back. If you've time to fool about, you have time to handle the rest of the bikes on your own." She forced his hand away from her face.

"How can you toy with me like this, Elsie?" He pleaded in what he probably thought was an endearing way.

"Toy with you?" Her voice was beginning to rise in pitch as her anger was starting to rise. "And what would I want with the likes of you? If you know what is good for you, you will step back this instant."

"Oh, I've never been very good at knowing what was good for me, Elsie, my lovely girl. But I'm willing to show you what's good for you." He had hold of her wrists now, pinning her arms to her sides as he bent down to kiss her neck. Her knee came up hard into his groin. He crumpled to the floor of the shed cursing with the little breath that remained in him. She'd had to deal with the likes of him on more than one occasion. She had, after all, grown up on a farm.

"I did warn you," she bristled at him. "I trust you can see to remaining bikes." She stepped around him but stopped in the shed doorway. Turning back, her voice became icy and her words dripped with undeniable authority. "Any repetition of these actions, with myself or any other girl on this staff will result in your immediate dismissal, Roger, so you had better make up your mind to behave yourself, or seek other employment."

**TBC-**


	4. Chapter 4

Elsie took a moment between the two sets of back doors to collect herself. _What could that boy have been thinking?_ Roger was only a few years younger than herself, but she couldn't help but think of him as anything but a boy.

Well, she knew _what_ he was thinking. Elsie just couldn't think _why_. Was there something in her own actions that was not as it should be? Had she led him on? She didn't think so. She had been in such a good mood after joining Mr. Carson for his lunch, perhaps she had smiled too much when she relayed his instructions for the evening. No, she decided. In the end it just comes down to a young man and a bicycle shed and she was blameless.

She waved off these thoughts. She was not worried that Roger would retaliate or repeat his advances. He might have gotten carried away with the moment, but he needed this job and he was smart enough to know it.

Elsie now turned her thoughts to collecting on her bet with Mrs. Cobb.

CE-

Mr. Carson had heard Elsie and Roger go out the back doors. He thought it was odd, but didn't give it too much thought until he realized that Geoffrey had not gone with them. Roger had a lazy streak in him and was always trying to get other people to do the work assigned to him. It stood to reason he had enlisted Elsie to help. It did not make sense that he had released Geoffrey from the task. Unless…

There _had_ been something in the way Roger was regarding Elsie at dinner; trying, unsuccessfully, to engage her in conversation. He was continually trying to catch her eye as he complained to Mr. Carson of all the extra work he'd done that day to cover for the butler's absence.

_The way he was carrying on, you'd think I had been boating on the lake all day._ Mr. Carson had scoffed to himself over dinner.

She'd seemed oblivious to his attempts, but there was something about her tonight; a way she had of involuntarily breaking into a smile as she chewed her food. She very much seemed like a woman with a secret.

By now, alarm bells were going off in his mind and his butler training compelled him to follow the pair out into the courtyard. He knew that he might discover something that truly disappointed him. Carson thought it unlikely that Elsie was party to anything improper, but how would he handle it if he were to discover a consensual liaison? He didn't like the idea of sending her away, but there were rules.

Hating the surreptitiousness of his actions, Mr. Carson had quietly let himself out into the courtyard, within earshot of the shed. It didn't take him long to understand the state of affairs inside the shed. Carson thought things had gone far enough and he was about to make his presence known when Roger let out a pained grunt and thudded to the shed floor. At that point, Mr. Carson thought he'd best slip back inside unnoticed. She'd handled the situation well and would only be embarrassed to know he had overheard.

He smiled as he closed the backdoor on her final warning to Roger. He always knew she had the competence and compassion to be a good housekeeper. Now he knew she had the fire.

CE—

The knock on his pantry door was firm and crisp, but it was not Mrs. Pearson's.

"Come," he said, looking up from his desk.

"Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Carson." Elsie smiled her way into the pantry, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her.

"You are not disturbing me, Elsie, please come in."

"Mrs. Pearson has gone up for the night, but she wanted me to bring you this."

"I'm glad to hear Mrs. Pearson has turned in. It must have been a hard day for her with me in the grounds all day." His gaze shifted reluctantly from her face to the bag in her hand. "What exactly is that you have, Elsie?"

"It's an icepack, Mr. Carson; for your leg. Mrs. Pearson noticed you were limping and I thought it must be from when Lady Sybil ran into you."

"You saw that, did you?" He blushed slightly. "Which time?"

"Just after lunch. Were there others?" Her concern was obvious.

The expression on his face could only be interpreted as, _You have no idea._

"Well, you should not be sitting at your desk with that leg under you. My first job was in the household of our local doctor. In my time there I saw enough sprains and bruises to know that you should have that leg elevated with ice on it." As she spoke, Elsie was rearranging the furniture of his pantry. She moved one of his small wooden chairs in front of his armchair.

Mr. Carson watched her; at first wondering what she was about. When she set the ice pack on the wooden chair and then turned back to face him, he understood. He rose, with some difficulty, trying not to wince at the pain. His leg had become stiff in the little time he'd been sitting at his desk. He thought he was able to hide it admirably.

Elsie resisted the urge to rush over and offer him her arm for support. He would not have approved of that at all. He was obviously reluctant to show her how much pain he was in. Further assistance would be impertinent. He was only accepting her help currently because she had invoked Mrs. Pearson's name; Mrs. Pearson, who had no knowledge of any limp or any icepack.

"And where did you get ice, Elsie Hughes?" He queried, settling into the arm chair and swinging his leg onto the wooden chair. "Mrs. Cobb guards that ice house like a dragon guards its hoard. Are you and Mrs. Pearson trying to start an all out war?"

"Oh, Mrs. Cobb and I have reached an understanding. There's to be a ceasefire for the next month or so." _Depending on how long Mrs. Cobb can stick to the arrangements of our bet._

"That would be nice, if it holds." A perplexed Charles Carson regarded her as he placed the ice gingerly on his shin, just below his knee. "Should I ask how this was achieved?"

"Best not." Thankfully, he accepted this cryptic answer. After a moment of watching him settle the icepack on his leg, she noticed him eying a novel just out of reach and handed it to him. He nodded his thanks. "You should roll your pant leg up to get the best use of the ice," she offered.

"It is cold enough as it is." He assured her. He was certainly not going to bare his leg in her presence. Even through the pant leg, the ice seemed to be doing it's work. The pain was lessening. His face was relaxing, until a different pain came to his eyes as he asked her, "And how, exactly, is Mrs. Pearson this evening? She was not very cheerful at dinner. I fear the trips to the wine cellar were a lot for her to handle."

"She only had to make one trip. She sent Roger down after she'd made the initial selections." Elsie reassured him.

"Very good. Still, do keep an eye on her and let me know if she is overworking herself." She could tell that he was afraid that the time had come when he would have to gently suggest to Mrs. Pearson that she should retire to her sister's in Leeds.

"I shall, Mr. Carson. But, I shouldn't worry too much. Mrs. Pearson is a highly intelligent woman. I believe she is capable of recognizing her own limitations. Though, may I say, she is very lucky to have such a friend as you looking out for her best interests."

"Thank you, Elsie. The friendship is mutual, I assure you. She has been a very good friend to me. A very good friend, indeed." He seemed to be speaking more to himself now as his thoughts drifted away. Elsie shifted uncomfortably where she stood; unsure of whether she had been dismissed or not.

After a few moments, he remembered her. And then he remembered something else. "Could you also keep an eye on Roger, Elsie? I am afraid he has been less than a gentleman to some of the girls."

"What do you mean, Mr. Carson?" Had she and Roger been overheard by someone?

"I'm only saying if you know of any reason that he should be reprimanded, you've only to say. I do not need details. Your word would be sufficient. I would give him a reference, but if any of the female staff would be more comfortable if he were dismissed, I would like to know."

"He is a bit cheeky, Mr. Carson, but I believe he is harmless. I will let you know if there is ever a problem of which I am aware." She wondered how much he knew.

"Very well, Elsie, thank you. That will be all. And thank Mrs. Pearson for the icepack." He suspected Mrs. Pearson had no idea about the icepack or his limp, for that matter, but pretenses must be maintained.

"Certainly. Goodnight, Mr. Carson."

"Goodnight, Miss Hughes."


	5. Chapter 5

Lady Grantham had decided to open up Grantham House for one month while she and the Dowager Countess visited Lady Rosamund in London. Even though Lord Grantham was away at war, the niceties must still be observed. Fashion took it's time getting to Downton. If one wished to stay on top of things, one simply must attend The Season, even in an abbreviated way.

Also, the ripples of Elsie's leaving Lady Rosamund's employ had finally reached Downton. To replace Elsie, Rosamund had pinched Miss Tanner from Lady Violet. Lady Violet had subsequently stolen Miss Reynolds from Cora. Now Lady Cora was in desperate need of a new lady's maid. Lady Grantham was actually looking forward to the opportunity of an upgrade at the position. Reynolds had always been resistant to the newest hair styles. She and Lady Violet would do very well together.

Her Ladyship decided to go in June, before London became so unbearably hot. The girls would also visit London for a week or two, but this was mainly a clothes and maid hunting expedition for Cora and Violet with Rosamund as their guide.

There was another personnel change in the wind. Mrs. Pearson could not fool herself any longer. She regretfully informed Mr. Carson and Lady Grantham of her intent to retire. Mr. Carson was grateful that the decision had been made on her own terms. Mrs. Pearson thought Her Ladyship's absence would be the best opportunity to transition Elsie into her new position of housekeeper. Despite Mrs. Pearson's recommendation, however, the appointment was not yet guaranteed.

One evening, the week before the Ladies Grantham were to scheduled to embark for London, Mr. Carson called Elsie into his pantry after the servant's dinner. He had been doing so more often, as Mrs. Pearson was gradually handing more responsibility to Elsie. She'd expected him to have tea or coffee for her, as on other occasions, but he surprised her this evening by offering her a glass of sherry. As she began to sip the sweet wine, Mr. Carson seated himself on the edge of the chair directly across from her and began without preamble.

"You have no doubt heard, Miss Hughes that Mrs. Pearson has given her notice to Her Ladyship. I know that you are also aware that you have been recommended by Mrs. Pearson to succeed her."

"That is my understanding, Mr. Carson." She took another tiny sip of the sherry.

"Though you were brought from London for that purpose, Mrs. Pearson's retirement has come sooner than Her Ladyship anticipated. Truth be told, Miss Hughes, Her Ladyship has some trepidation at appointing someone as young as yourself as housekeeper. She has asked me for a second opinion." He paused here to let his words sink in.

She realized now that this was an interview. She set aside the wine and waited for him to proceed. Seeing that she had grasped the seriousness of the conversation, he nodded and continued.

"The position of Lady Grantham's lady's maid is available to you if you prefer." He offered.

"My ambition is housekeeper, Mr. Carson; not lady's maid. I don't have the stomach for all the intrigue required. Is there something in my performance these last months to make you doubt my ability to handle being housekeeper at Downton?"

"I have no doubts when it comes to your competency, Miss Hughes. Let me assure you of that." He waved one hand as though putting that matter aside for all time. "My hesitancy is based on my concern for your happiness."

She found herself oddly provoked by his statement. "My _happiness_?"

He looked unsure of how to continue, but plowed ahead regardless. "As butler, I am responsible for running a tight ship upstairs. Discontent below stairs can fester and affect the performance upstairs. Therefore, the well being of everyone below stairs is of utmost priority."

He paused here to see if she was following him. She tilted her head and nodded to show she wasn't quite sure where he was going, but she was following along so far. This was enough to encourage him to press on.

"The transition from housemaid or lady's maid to housekeeper is severe. As of today, the girls below stairs are your friends. Once you become housekeeper, you will not have any friends. Not in the same sense you do now."

"Are you trying to frighten me off, Mr. Carson?" She was getting a bit piqued by the pedantic tone of the conversation.

"I only wish to caution you, Miss Hughes." Now he had the look of a man with a shovel who couldn't figure out if he was digging himself out or digging himself deeper. Regardless, he kept digging. "You are not yet 40. You are highly skilled and could find employment in many situations that might allow you to pursue a..." he searched frantically for the correct word, "_richer_ personal life. Perhaps even a family?" He shifted uncomfortably on the chair.

"I think my years of wanting to start a family are _past_, Mr. Carson." She said it more caustically than she'd intended, but she could not believe her commitment to this way of life was being questioned now. And she would be truly angry if his 'concern for her happiness' cost her the position that she coveted.

He heard the anger rising, but he felt this conversation was necessary. But, why? _Was _he trying to scare her away? Was he afraid of what her continued presence might do to his own resolve? No, he decided. He was doing his job. He wanted her to stay, but he needed to know the level of her commitment to this life.

"Of starting one, perhaps, though I have heard of stranger things than a woman in her thirties having a child. But you could still have a family." At this she crossed her arms and leaned back incredulously. He unconsciously adjusted his collar.

"Indeed," he hurried forward only because retreat was now impossible, "I could name several eligible bachelors in town off the top of my head who hover around after church looking for likely mothers for their orphans."

"How very romantic you make it sound, Mr. Carson." Her words were sharp and measured. She was holding onto her anger now as a hive restrains a swarm of angry bees ready to rush forth. "Perhaps you could point them out to me next Sunday? Or better yet, introduce me if you are so keen to see me gone."

His ears flushed scarlet. She was angry and had every right to be. If he could just make her see his point, he thought he might survive this conversation.

"I am afraid I have a rather mercenary view on these matters and I apologize if I am being overly familiar, Miss Hughes. I only wish to point out that you still have options. Once you make the leap to housekeeper, there will be more responsibility and fewer options. I firmly believe that a decision of this import must be made with one's eyes wide open. Even if you look back and wish you had made another choice, there is a lower chance of regret when a decision is made with all the available information."

She was staring at him, the anger buzzing behind her eyes, waiting for him to say the wrong thing. He was trying desperately to say only the right things.

"I am not trying to frighten you, Miss Hughes, or dissuade you in any way. Indeed, I am hopeful that you will remain here as housekeeper, but I would hate to believe that you had been misled regarding the realities of this life.

"There is a distinction between wishing you'd done differently and truly regretting something, Miss Hughes."

She softened at this. She saw clearly that he was very uncomfortable and was struggling with this conversation, but he obviously felt it was important. Elsie understood exactly the distinction of which Mr. Carson spoke. She thought of Joe. Elsie had never regretted turning him away, but she had wondered at times; like when her sister had relayed the news of his marriage or the birth of his son. She understood that this good man before her was enduring a torturous conversation to make sure that Elsie Hughes could be happy with her decision; not just today, but years down the road. Her anger vanished almost as quickly as it had materialized. The swarm of bees settled back to rest.

"I've been in this life for over twenty years already, Mr. Carson. I am aware of what is being asked." She assured him, in a much kinder tone. She thought of him carrying Lady Sybil home from cycling in the evening twilight. "And there are many types of family."

"Miss Hughes, if you assure me that this is what you truly want, you shall have my full endorsement. All I ask is that you consider very carefully before you answer. Just be sure you are prepared to leave Elsie behind and become Mrs. Hughes from now on. Reaching this level of professional achievement can be very fulfilling, but it is not for everyone. Being in a position of such authority in a large household can be, for lack of a better term,.." _lonely,_ "...solitary."

He took a deep breath and let out a large sigh of relief to have this conversation coming to an end. He picked up his glass and topped off the sherry. He took a large swig and sat back slightly in his chair.

Realizing the interview was over, Elsie Hughes finished her own sherry with one gulp and placed the glass back on the table. "Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Carson. I have always assumed that becoming the housekeeper in a household such as this is what I wanted, but I shall consider your words carefully. You shall have my answer before Her Ladyship leaves for London."

He rose when she rose. As she reached the door of his pantry, she seemed to have an afterthought. "May I ask you a question, Mr. Carson?"

"Of course." He was holding both wine glasses now, having started to clear as she left.

"Do you have any regrets?" Mrs. Pearson had informed Elsie of his past on the stage. It was not just idle gossip. She'd not told Elsie many details. She only wanted Elsie to be prepared to help him if and when the truth came out. Still, Elsie was curious.

He was surprised by the question, but answered thoughtfully. He owed her the truth. "I may have doubts, sometimes. But never regrets."

"So you plan to remain at Downton for the foreseeable future?"

"I do, Miss Hughes. I should think you'd be stuck with me for at least the next twenty years or so."

"Well, Mr. Carson, when you put it like that, I _will _have to give it a good deal of thought."

She made an expedient exit and closed the door before his gaping mouth could form words and before she burst out laughing. His expression had been priceless. Yes, she thought, biting her lower lip and smiling, she would be happy to face twenty years of teasing him; especially if he kept making it this easy.

**TBC-**


	6. Chapter 6

The three Miss Crawleys tumbled out of the carriage as it pulled up before the house. Lady Cora descended more smoothly, but also more wearily. She was beginning to doubt Fraulein Kelda's efficacy.

The staff waited before the doors to welcome them home from London. It was the first time of countless times Mrs. Hughes would stand just to the left of Mr. Carson to welcome family and visitors as housekeeper of Downton Abbey.

"Where is Mrs. Pearson?" Lady Mary looked accusingly at Mrs. Hughes and then looked around as though she had stashed Mrs. Pearson's body somewhere in the immediate vicinity.

"She's living with her sister now; in Northallerton." Mrs. Hughes answered. "She's left a note for each of you in your rooms."

Lady Edith looked up and started. It was not the housekeeper who caught her attention. "But how have you beaten us here, Mr. Carson? Weren't you on the train with us? I didn't see you pass."

Leave it to Edith to register this fact. But, indeed, Carson had not been on the same train. He had waited at breakfast and then accompanied the luggage on an earlier train than the family. No doubt, in the mind of a child, there could not conceivably be more than one train from London to York in the course of a day. In the mind of an active child, Mr. Carson's presence here could only be explained by magic or time travel.

Mr. Carson made no answer but simply winked at her as she walked by, gawping up at him.

"Mrs. Hughes, how are you settling in? I trust Mrs. Cobb is not giving you too much trouble." Lady Grantham inquired.

"Not at all, My Lady. We are getting on quite well." Things had indeed been quiet in the kitchens since Mrs. Pearson had left. Mrs. Hughes suspected that Mrs. Cobb was considering her own retirement. She had been as difficult as ever when Mrs. Pearson was still at Downton, putting the finishing touches on Elsie's training. The moment Mrs. Pearson left, however, Mrs. Cobb's fire seemed to go out. Though it must be said the assistant cook, Beryl Patmore, was more than taking up the slack. It was as though the baton of war had been passed to the next generation.

It didn't take Mrs. Hughes long to realize that Beryl was more bark than bite. As long as the work got done, Mrs. Hughes could handle a little drama with dinner. It was expected from a cook, after all. Also, it kept things lively and kept all the girls below stairs on their toes. A running feud allowed both the cook and the housekeeper to frighten the kitchen maids and parlor maids, respectfully, without actually yelling _at_ them. She suspected now that Mrs. Cobb and Mrs. Pearson had both known this.

"Mrs. Hughes, this is Miss O'Brien. Please see her settled and show her the ins and outs of Downton. O'Brien, you may attend me beginning tomorrow morning." Mrs. Hughes nodded at the severe woman standing behind Lady Grantham. She seemed to be made all of angles.

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes followed the family through the doors as the other servants returned to work via the back door.

"I'll take my bath immediately, Mrs. Hughes." She handed her gloves and cloak to Mr. Carson.

"Of course, m'lady. Joanna is waiting for you."

The children had already been whisked away for bathing. When she reached the first landing, Lady Grantham stopped and called back, "Mr. Carson, were you able to secure the items you suggested?"

"Yes, My Lady. They are wrapped and prepared. Would you like me to set them out with the tea?"

"That would be perfect, Carson. Thank you."

CE-

"You girls were all so well behaved in London, I've gotten you each a treat." Lady Grantham watched them over the rim of her teacup.

Tiny hands tugged at obstinate knots and tore at colorful tissue paper. There were squeals of delight as each girl, in her own time, extracted a miniature bicycle ornament. They were delicate objects and Lady Sybil held hers with awful reverence.

Lady Cora was impressed by the ornaments as well. Carson had described them to her, but she had not expected the subtle workmanship they displayed.

The wheels, slightly larger than a sovereign, were made of bleach-white string tied in an intricate series of knots. The string was stiffly starched so it held the shape despite the fragile appearance. The style was similar to tatting, but the knots were more masculine, almost nautical. The rest of the ornament was mostly copper wiring, twisted and bent into a perfect replica of a bike frame, complete with handlebars. Each young lady's name was twisted in delicate silver strands into the copper wire frame of her own Lilliputian bicycle.

"You may hang them in your rooms until Christmas. Then, you may hang them on the tree." Their mother told the delighted girls. Edith had just discovered that the wheels turned and was showing Sybil.

Mr. Carson tried not to look too pleased with himself as he stood by the tea cart. He was not succeeding. He was glad the young ladies liked their gifts. He had been confident that they would, but he was nonetheless relieved to have confirmation.

"May we go riding with Mr. Carson tomorrow, Mama?" Lady Mary asked as she held her ornament up to the window, watching the silver of her name shine in the sunlight.

Carson had not anticipated this repercussion. His smug smile was gone in an instant. He held his breath.

"Yes, of course you may, Mary."

_No good deed goes unpunished. _Mr. Carson thought, ruefully.

Cora could not refuse the girls anything but she felt guilty seeing the resignation on Mr. Carson's face. "But only for one hour, immediately after breakfast. Then, you must let Mr. Carson return to his work and you must be content with Fraulein Kelda for the rest of the day."

_Maybe there is some justice in the world, after all_, Carson consoled himself. He had not seen the smiles and winks exchanged amongst the Crawley girls.

CE-

Since it was only Lady Grantham and the girls at home, the young ladies were allowed to dress for dinner and eat in the main dining room. Lady Cora had not bothered to change. Dinner itself had been a shortened affair. If there were too many courses, Edith and Sybil lost interest; growing tired and grumpy if the meal dragged too long.

So the staff was enjoying their own repast a little early tonight. Mrs. Hughes sat just to Mr. Carson's right. It felt natural. She liked being this close to him during their meals. From here, she could appreciate the meticulous way he cut his food and devoured his meal in an orderly, counterclockwise ritual, beginning at six o'clock and ending at nine.

From her seat halfway up the table, she had always assumed his discussions with Mrs. Pearson were exclusively about silver, china patterns and menus. In reality, his conversation proved more diverse than she'd expected. He was positively chatty. He had started the meal by telling her of a new acquisition at the National Gallery. He had also asked after Mrs. Pearson, whom he hoped to visit on his next half day.

After assuring him that Mrs. Pearson was well settled in Northallerton, it was Mrs. Hughes' turn to choose the topic.

"Those ornaments were lovely, Mr. Carson. Wherever did you find them?" Lady Sybil had shown Mrs. Hughes her treasure before dinner. Apparently, the child had been carrying it with her everywhere since tea.

"Covent Garden. I like to go to there on some of my half days when I am in London. Truth be told, I rather enjoy the noise. There is a toymaker's booth there. He had a display of ornaments. The bicycle caught my eye and I thought the girls would each appreciate one. When I inquired, the man said he could personalize them for me if I could wait a week." He replied, laying aside his knife and fork.

She was disappointed when she realized dinner was coming to a close. "It was very thoughtful of you to be thinking of the girls on your half day. The gifts are certainly popular. And they will look lovely on the tree come Christmas."

"I am gratified that you liked them, Mrs. Hughes." He stood from the table, dismissing Mrs. Hughes and the rest of the staff so the kitchen maids could clear. She knew he had many things to see to this evening to transition back to Downton from Grantham House. She hoped they would have time for tea together tomorrow evening, but was not hopeful for tonight.

Mrs. Hughes retired to her sitting room; she was still trying to iron out a few discrepancies left from Mrs. Pearson's final months. The inventory was almost squared away, but there were yet a few items she could not locate.

She was already seated when she noticed a small package in the middle of her desk. The tag attached to it read, "To celebrate your promotion." His hand was unmistakable.

The wrapping was much more delicate than that of the girls' but the contents was the same, except the name in this bicycle frame was 'Elsie'. Also, the wheels on her bike were each shaped like hearts with little spokes woven into them.

Mr. Carson's knock preceded him by less than a second. He was smiling a little shyly. She smiled back.

"Shouldn't it say 'Mrs. Hughes'?" she asked coyly.

"Wouldn't fit. Too many letters." He'd been ready for that question.

She held up the bicycle and twirled one of the heart shaped wheels, with a questioning look on her face.

He blushed a bit at that. "Yes, well, I ordered yours separately from the young ladies," an embarrassed Mr. Carson explained. "The toymaker must have assumed it was for a sweetheart. He was so proud of the wheels; I didn't like to correct him. And I thought they looked rather nice.

"I hope you aren't offended, Mrs. Hughes."

"Not at all, Mr. Carson. It's lovely." He relaxed, grateful that she had let him off the hook so readily. He would soon know better.

"Though I feel that I have not earned it, as I cannot ride a bicycle," she teased.

"But you are taking on a new challenge, Mrs. Hughes. Much like the young ladies learning to ride." He was very serious.

_Far too serious_, she thought. She needed to remind him that he was taking on a new challenge as well.

"But they were not afraid of the challenge because _you_ were there to help them, Mr. Carson." She hoped he would take the bait.

"As I am here to help _you_, Mrs. Hughes." He was still deadly solemn. But he had indeed walked into her trap.

"And you promise to always be there to catch me? Before I pedal myself into a lake?" Was that a flicker of a smile, she saw?

"Of course, Mrs. Hughes." He bowed slightly and turned to leave. "Just please mind my shins." With that, he left her smiling and basking in her victory.

**A/N- One more chapter of fluff and then back to the hypothetical present of series 4. Reviews are appreciated.  
**


	7. Chapter 7

Dread followed Mr. Carson on all his morning rounds. The last time he'd taken the girls cycling, it had taken three weeks to repair the damage to his clothing. The shoes he had worn were now relegated to 'emergency only' status as he had been unable to polish the tread marks out of them to his liking. Both Mrs. Pearson and Mrs. Hughes told him it was unnoticeable, but he had seen the damage and could not unsee it.

He was wearing these 'emergency only' shoes today, in anticipation of the cycling outing. No doubt the girls were much more accomplished than before, but he knew they had not been allowed back to the big hill by the lake since that first day. He suspected the whole reason he was wanted was so they could return there to test their much improved riding skills. Lady Sybil had graduated to a bike with pedals while the family was in London, but she was still a little vague on the business of stopping. Thankfully, most of the parks in London were remarkably flat. Carson knew he was going to have his hands full keeping her out of the lake. He wondered absently if he could attach some sort of floatation device onto her or the bike. Maybe he could convince them to stop by the boat house on their way to the hill. Without Patrick to goad her, Carson might be able to appeal to Lady Mary's good sense.

Lady Grantham had taken breakfast in bed and the girls had eaten in the nursery with Fraulein Kelda. The bicycles were waiting around the front of the house where the hall boys had taken them first thing this morning. The girls were to ring for him when they were ready. _Their hour begins the second that bell rings, _he pledged, looking at his watch. Mr. Carson stood in the servant's hall staring at the bell for the drawing room. He looked like a man standing before a firing squad. Mrs. Hughes was sitting comfortably in her chair at the main table, ostensibly mending a pillow case. She wanted to tease him by offering him a blindfold and a cigarette, but he was clearly not in the mood to jest.

Finally, the tiny bell jumped and jangled.

"Ask not for whom the bell tolls…" he grumbled as he turned towards the stairs. He walked up them as though they led to the gallows.

She wanted to say something encouraging but all she could think to say was, "No man is an island, Mr. Carson." She waited until he was up the stairs and then hurried out the backdoor. She was NOT going to miss this!

The drawing room was empty when Mr. Carson arrived. He could hear their excited chatter outside already. When he reached the front door, he took a deep breath to collect himself before pulling it open.

"SURPRISE!" The three voices called loudly, almost simultaneously. The girls were holding up an adult sized bicycle with a great bow on it. Lady Grantham was there as well. He was flummoxed. "Are you planning on riding as well, My Lady?"

She laughed lightly and shook her head as the Edith and Sybil ran forward to grab Mr. Carson's hands. Lady Mary held the bicycle for him. Instinctively, he took the handlebars. The truth finally hit him like a ton of bricks. This bicycle was for _him_.

He'd never been given anything but books or clothing by the family; certainly nothing as frivolous as a bicycle. Then he realized with terror that he was expected to ride this bicycle..._today_.

He looked imploringly at Lady Grantham. "Oh, no, My Lady. This is not a wise thing." He had never ridden a bicycle before. He was wary of anything that involved momentum. Also, he had an absurd idea that no bicycle could hold him.

When he was only eight years old, his grandfather, who was still head groomsman at that point, had told him very seriously, "My boy, you are too large for a pony and too young for a horse. By the time you are old enough for a horse, I shouldn't be surprised if you are too big for that as well." Perhaps this last part had not been meant seriously, but it had been taken as such.

"The girls planned all of this themselves, Mr. Carson. They chose the bicycle when we were shopping for Sybil's new bicycle. They even arranged to have it shipped back to Downton before we all returned." Lady Grantham was very proud of them.

"Mrs. Hughes hid it for us." Edith offered proudly.

"And added the bow," Sybil said happily.

"And packed us lunch for today," Mary concluded, motioning to the basket on her own bicycle.

He looked towards the side of the house, where he knew she would be standing. And here he was thinking she was on _his_ side. He shook his head at her to show how very much he felt this betrayal. The smile on her face made it difficult for him to be too angry. He rolled his eyes. He would deal with her later.

Turning back to the dilemma directly before him, he made one last appeal to Her Ladyship's maternal instinct. "I shall crush them if I fall, My Lady."

"Then I believe I can trust you not to fall, Mr. Carson. And Carson, take the whole day off." Lady Cora could barely stifle her laughter.

The girls were all on their own bicycles by now. Sybil was still shaky, but getting stronger with every stroke of the pedal. They buzzed around waiting for him to mount up.

Obediently, Charles Carson straddled the bicycle. He sat on the seat and tested the strength of the frame by taking first one foot and then the other off the gravel drive. He balanced for a moment and started to trust the craftsmanship of the bicycle before placing one foot back on the ground.

Encouraged by this, the girls started pedaling off towards the lake. Mr. Carson started after them, walking the bike underneath him until he had enough speed to begin pedaling. The bow on the handlebars flapped weakly in front of him. He was not a natural, but it could have been worse. His steering was erratic, but it was improving and there was nothing for him to run into, yet.

Carson thought of the hill by the lake. He wondered how he could possibly be expected to stop at the bottom of it. He wondered how Lady Sybil was going to stop at the bottom of it without him there to catch her. This thought made him pedal faster.

"I do not think this is a very good idea." He called after the girls as he followed them; trying to catch up with them. Like Lady Sybil, he gained speed and confidence with every pump of the pedal.

They were gone all day. None of the four could ever be brought to talk about that day except to say it was one of the most perfect days of their lives. They were not sworn to secrecy, it was just a memory they each wanted instinctively to keep for themselves. Mr. Carson's 'emergency only' shoes were never seen again.

Many years later, in a small Dublin apartment, after hanging her little bicycle on their little tree, Sybil did admit to Tom that it was on that day she had learned to swim.

CE-

December, 1921.

"Higher."

Charles Carson lifted Sybbie up as high on the tree as he could. She hung the little copper bicycle on an empty branch so that an electric light shone behind it, catching the silver inlay which read "Sybil". Just below it, there already hung an almost identical ornament with heart shaped wheels.

_Indeed, there are all kinds of families_. Elsie thought as she watched her man with little Sybbie.

Elsie smiled at Tom who stood across the room obviously enjoying the scene as much as she. She knew that Sybil had taken that ornament with her to Ireland. What emotions must be battling in his heart right now? Was he remembering their only Christmas together as man and wife? Elsie imagined so.

Lady Sybil had left the ornament behind her in Dublin with the rest of her possessions when she and Tom had fled. A cousin of his had packed up their belongings and sent them to Downton. Lady Sybil had been greatly relieved when she found the ornament amongst the hastily packed detritus of their Dublin home. She had shown Mrs. Hughes the memento as proudly that day as she had on the day she'd first received it. Less than a month later, Sybil was gone.

Now, Charles squatted next to Sybbie after setting her down. They looked up at the tree very seriously in unison; his great large face even with her tiny doll-like features.

"That is a very fine branch, my girl. Well placed." She smiled proudly at his approval. Impulsively, she grabbed him by one ear and the tip of his Roman nose and kissed him lightly and naturally on the cheek; much like another Sybil had done almost twenty years before.

THE END

**A/N- If you want to know exactly where this Christmas tree is located, you'll have to read my next story..."Moving On".  
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**Thanks for reading, reviewing, following and favoriting. **

**If you want further adventures of young Crawley girls (and of course Carson), let me know. They are very entertaining to write. Poor Edith.  
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**I own none of these characters, but I love them like my own. I hope you love them too, J. Fellowes.**


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